Judgement of Nemesis
by Beatlemaniac1965
Summary: Harry Potter is wrongfully convicted and put in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. Journey along with him as he breaks out and becomes a mysterious agent of justice, whose sole aim in life is to seek revenge.
1. The Prisoner

6 months

He had been in this hellhole for six months.

The prisoner had placed himself in front of the window to watch the crescent moon rise. After the unbearable heat of the fiery orb they called the sun, the moon's steady and patient light had been quite a welcome change.

His thoughts were strangely twisted, not because of the demons out there, but maybe because of lack of correspondence of any sort.

_They really do make us animals_, he thought wryly, _or most of us, at any rate_.

The prisoner was a skeletally thin man. His hair was long and matted, his eyes, which once sparkled with life, were dull. He could have been made out of stone, so still was he in his fervent admiration of the moon. His breathing was shallow, but his hands moved incessantly, perhaps the last sign which went to show that he too was waiting.

What was he waiting for?

As if in answer to the question, the heavy door of his cell was violently opened. A man stepped in pompously. He does not play a major part in this narrative and so will not be named. He had only one thing to say

"Number 721, your plea has been registered with the authorities. I have just received a copy of the judgment."

The prisoner waited with baited breath, not daring to hope. After all his pleas, would he finally get what he wanted? He schooled his features into a neutral mask and asked with a careless air, "And?"

The man broke into a smile and said "They have agreed. Looking at your past record, they have agreed to grant you a cellmate."

The prisoner couldn't believe it. He was ecstatic. Finally, he would have somebody to talk to. Even if it were a murderer he wouldn't have cared. At this point he couldn't be picky.

"Thank you." He said.

"The pleasure is mine Mr. Potter."

Ah yes, the prisoner thought, that was my name, wasn't it? Harry Potter? Boy who lived? Wish those scumbags could see me now. Aloud, he said, "Thank you sir, it means a lot to me."

The man quickly left the room, his visit no doubt cut short due to the stench and cries of the depraved souls entombed here. The screams would not let him sleep at night for the first few months, but now it didn't disturb him. Nothing mattered anymore. One day was very much like the last and the weeks and months dragged on and on.

_Still,_ the prisoner thought_, at least my life is going to take a turn, either for the better or for the worst_

He had no idea.


	2. The Spaniard

I want to thank all those guys who read this story. You guys rock man, you do. Also in answer to your reviews, yes, the first chapter was a bit short (This one is 1000+ words). I will tell you how Harry got into this mess and also how he gets out. But for now, read and review guys, I've only two days to live, you know._

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_

_How did I end up this way? _He wondered_ is my life supposed to be a perpetual soap opera?_

He often pondered over these questions. An accomplished occlumens, he had no trouble with the dementors. They only bored him. He often thought of writing his own version of his adventures in Hogwarts. Somehow he doubted that it would attract many readers.

_Maybe I could even make a film or two, _he thought _if anybody's willing to watch it._

He had even begun writing a rough draft of his adventures. He had decided to split it into seven books, the first being titled, somewhat childishly, 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'. But one day the draft vanished. The aurors said they had nothing to do with it, but one auror left service soon after. Her name, Joanne Rollins. The prisoner had suspected she had something to do with the theft, but couldn't prove it.

_Oh well, best of luck to her,_ he thought _she's going to need it._

Rollins was never heard of again, but another author started writing about the adventures of a young wizard boy soon after. His musings were interrupted when the door to his cell was opened. A tall man with swarthy skin stepped in. he had a haughty look and his manner was that of an aristocrat. Were he not wearing rags, the prisoner would have assumed him to be the governor of Azkaban or something. He was flanked by two aurors who looked terrified of the man.

One of the aurors stepped forward and said "This is your new cellmate, Pedro Garcia."

"Oh gee," the prisoner replied, "I thought he was here to do my laundry."

As he said these words, the prisoner inwardly groaned. Azkaban had a way of destroying your sense of humor. He made a mental note to buy a joke book if he ever got out of this place.

The guard didn't look even remotely amused.

"I would cut out the humor if I were you, son" he said.

"Yeah alright," the prisoner replied "we can introduce ourselves to each other. Why don't you guys go away and play cards or whatever the hell you do nowadays?"

The aurors left the cell quickly, magically locking the cell door behind them. For the first few moments, the two prisoners just stared at each other, taking note of the other as if he was an adversary to be defeated. After they had looked each other up and down, they decided to get on with the introductions. The swarthy man was the first to break the ice, putting a large hand in front of the prisoner, which he shook after a moment's trepidation.

"I'm Pedro Garcia. People call me the Spaniard" the man said.

"I'm Harry Potter." The prisoner replied.

"Nice to meet you, son" the Spaniard said "But what is a winning lad like you doing in a place like this?"

"It's a long story and I don't want to bore you with the details. Suffice to say that I was innocent."

The Spaniard leaned in, and whispered "Innocent, eh?"

The prisoner nodded

"They always say that" the Spaniard said

"I suppose you have more experience in these matters." The prisoner shot back.

The Spaniard guffawed and said "Oh you really did catch me there. You are one sharp lad. Anyway what are you? Fiver or tenner?"

The prisoner had no idea what the Spaniard meant and said as much to him.

The Spaniard replied "It's nothing lad, a fiver is a fellow who is brought in for five years and tenner is one who is brought in for ten. So which are you? Fiver or tenner?"

The prisoner shook his head "Neither." He replied "I'm a lifer."

The Spaniard squinted at him. For a long time afterwards he didn't speak a word. He again looked hard at the prisoner, as if he had miscalculated and was reevaluating him. The prisoner himself had other things on his mind and didn't try to make conversation. It was pleasant for him to just sit in the presence of another human being. After months of wasting himself away, having no one to talk to, when the prisoner finally have someone, he really didn't feel like talking

_Odd isn't it? _He thought _you spend six months writing letters begging for a cellmate and when you have one you simply don't feel like talking to him._

He found comfort in the fact that at least the committee hadn't provided him with a death eater as cell mate. He wasn't sure who would kill the other first. Not to mention the fact that he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink for fear of being strangled while he was asleep.

_Don't think about that now, at least you haven't got a death eater as a cellmate. Or have you?_

The prisoner hadn't ever felt paranoid but now he couldn't be sure. Before he could stop himself he blurted out the words.

"Um, you aren't a death eater, are you?" He asked, in what he hoped was a light and conversational tone.

"Not really, but I did serve in the Dark Lord's army for a couple of years."

"What? You aren't serious, are you?"

The Spaniard chuckled and said "No I'm not. But now that you have started talking to me again, would you mind telling me how you got here? You seem like a nice young boy, not more than twenty. How did you end up in this place? I know your background, of course. Who doesn't? But I want to know how you got here."

The prisoner was silent. He was looking at the setting sun with unfocused eyes. Looking but not looking. He sighed and said "It's a long story, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. I think its time I shared my story with someone. It is a bit of a thriller."

The Spaniard clapped his hands once.

"Excellent," he said, "I love thrillers."


	3. The Past

New chapter up! As usual, all I have to say is that please Read and Review. As an answer to another rather clever question I faced was - Yes. This fic is based on The Count of Monte Cristo but please don't worry. I stole only the basic idea. Apart from being wrongfully(rightfully, to be honest) convicted and breaking out, there is nothing else similar to the book. Read and enjoy. Oh and I got a review saying something like 'sloppy narrative' or something. Now, I don't mind brickbats but please criticise constructively. That's all, I guess. Thanks for listening to my rants.

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The prisoner hesitated for a moment, perhaps wondering why he was sharing the intimate details of his life with a stranger. However, after a moment of bitter reflection he started. His tale was long and painful, spanning hours and giving rise to numerous interruptions on the Spaniard's part so as to clarify a point. Thus we will not hear the narrative in full but will hear a shortened version of it which will nonetheless give us all the information we need at this point in time.

Death Eaters to be tried by Wizengamot

By Freuden Jung

Credible sources in the Ministry of Magic have informed the Daily Prophet that the remaining Death Eaters will finally face trial in what appears to be the largest trial in wizarding history.

427 Death Eaters, up to about 4000 counts shared among them , including 'attempt to kill, maim or injure', 'fatally wounding a fellow wizard', 'improper use of magic on a muggle', 'use of magic in the presence of a muggle' etc.

Sources inform us that this potentially explosive trial is expected to carry on for months, with each wizard being tried individually. The Ministry expects up to 4000 witnesses when the Death Eaters go on trial. We have still not received news whether Harry Potter…

"You don't want to read that, its complete rubbish"

Harry Potter turned to see his girlfriend Ginny enter the living room. The day after her graduation, she packed her bags and left straight away for Harry's place. They enjoyed a nice relationship. They both enjoyed each other's company and were seriously considering getting married, for as Ginny said "Sleeping together is alright but getting married has its advantages."

These advantages, Harry liked to think, were for both men and women. But deep down, he intuitively knew what 'advantages' Ginny was referring to. However, after a long conversation, they both decided that they were too young for marriage, both having their hands full with their prospective careers (Ginny had won a tryout for the Holyhead Harpies and Harry was on his way to becoming an Auror).

"The same old rubbish?" Harry asked

"Yeah they print it every time they're out of material. Yesterday's headline was something about a fire-breathing pony or something."

"Fire breathing dragon, you mean"

"Yeah. Whatever. Same difference really."

"Your brother would know more, wouldn't he?"

"Enough about my brother, Romeo. So are we going out tonight?"

Harry pretended to think about it. "Hmmmmmmm. I would love to but…"

"Yes?"

"I promised to go out with Isis. Maybe I can fit you into my schedule tomorrow or something."

Ginny lunged at him. Harry, anticipating the move, shifted to one side. Ginny crashed into the sofa and had to extricate herself, swearing under her breath all the while. Harry just laughed, which served to enrage Ginny further.

"You'd better go out with me tonight. Or else…"she threatened.

"Or else you'll what? Lunge at me?"

"No. I'll make you sleep on the couch for the rest of the month."

Harry visibly gulped and replied, "Yes honey. I will go with you, why not?"

Many days passed this way. Both were happy, both had successful careers (Ginny had got into the first team for the Harpies and Harry was going to become an auror in 2 month's time). Both were madly in love with each other, though Harry refused to marry Ginny, claiming he was commitment phobic.

They were both leading blissful lives. In spite of Harry's refusal to marry her, Ginny bore him no grudge and they proceeded on with their existence. They had no idea that their lives were nearing a potentially disastrous calamity.

Harry woke up in the morning by 7:30. As usual, he went for a jog before taking a shower. It was a lovely Sunday morning, and he was eager to spend it outdoors with his beloved, who, at the moment, was unfortunately fast asleep. Knowing that his girlfriend was rather touchy about being woken up early on a holiday, he proceeded to the kitchen where he fried some sausages and poured himself orange juice. He then went out to retrieve the newspaper which was lying on the doorstep. To say that the headlines were shocking was like calling Taj Mahal a rather nifty tomb.

Boy Who Lived used Unforgivables on Death Eaters?

By Rita Skeeter

The Carrows, who testified before the Wizengamot have claimed that Harry Potter used the Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow. He then proceeded to testify under Veritaserum. The members of the Wizengamot were struck dumb by the announcement and then proceeded to discuss this startling discovery after Carrow had been dismissed (He was sentenced to a life behind bars in Azkaban).

The members cancelled all trials scheduled for the day and held a meeting behind closed doors. As of today, the Wizengamot has still not decided what will become of the Boy Who Lived. Close sources, however, tell us that Potter might be let off. This journalist believes that such a thing should never happen as justice must be served to people who take the law lightly.

I have personally spoken with Harry and I can tell you that he gives the impression that deep down he is a twisted and cruel character. As early as his fourth year, he was extremely ambitious, vying to win the Triwizard cup, in spite of being pitted against older and more experienced wizards. He was extremely arrogant and begged me to interview him, offers which I constantly refused. He even tried to seduce me, but he failed. After all, I'm a woman of dignity and will never resort to such things to obtain news.

Supporters of Harry Potter, meanwhile, have objected strongly to the Wizenmagot's probe into Potter's past. Minerva McGonagall has gone so far as to justify the act and say that it was for 'The Greater Good'. They claim…

Harry went numb. He wasn't panicking but then, he was trained not to panic. This was probably the greatest hurdle he had ever faced in is life. Dying for your beliefs was one thing, but going to Azkaban was a fate worse than death. He put the paper down and started to think. There was a way out, but involved the old man…

"Enough of this. It's getting on my nerves. What was the vote?" asked the Spaniard.

"51 in favor to 49 against." The prisoner replied dully.

The Spaniard winced in sympathy. "That close?"

"I wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for the old man."

"Ah yes. The old man. Who is he and how could he have changed your future?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?"

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Another cliffhanger. A few more curses on my head. Now say 'Yay! I love thrillers!' with a straight face. Please R & R.


	4. The Spaniard's Deduction

Guess who's back, and that too after a long hiatus. Thanks for all the views, guys. 2,300 for a small note? I wonder how many eyeballs this little piece will grab. A fair many, I hope. As far as Draco Malfoy goes, it is henceforth declared a taboo subject. I had planned to introduce him in this chapter, but won't (oh sorry, took out all the surprise, did I. Or did I just make it even more suspenseful?). Its for you to decide. Read and Review. Please.

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The Prisoner waved a hand, inviting the Spaniard to join him on the floor. When he saw that the Spaniard had made himself comfortable, the Prisoner continued his tale.

The old men were actually just what the words suggested. They were old men. However, they were the ones who held real power in the wizengamot. Since they don't feature in the narrative until later, let's just start where we left off.

Minerva McGonagall was having a bad day. Not only was her ex favorite student in the dock for a crime that was justified, if wrong, she could also not find her bag of 'every flavor beans' which she had hidden under the tartan pillow covers. For the first time in 2 years, she called a meeting. It wasn't any old meeting, but a closed door one, where only a few people were invited. Five people, to be precise.

She counted them off on her fingers. Arthur Weasley, Shacklebolt, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn. She didn't dare call anybody else.

"This is damn interesting." Said the Spaniard," What else happened?"

"I don't know." The prisoner replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wasn't there, was I? How can I know what they were all going gaga about? All I know of this business is what I got to know second-hand from Arthur Weasley. And he isn't the best of sources."

"Why weren't you called for the meeting? I thought the meeting was called to save your hide. It was, wasn't it? Or did they just meet for a beer or two?"

The prisoner sighed and looked out of the window. For a long moment he did not speak. His mind flashed back to the last night, when the governor had come to tell him that they were upholding his plea. _How much can one's life change in a matter of minutes_, he wondered. Finally, when he thought that he was strong enough to speak, he started his narrative where he had stopped. However, before he could start, the Spaniard broke the silence.

"I know this is hard for you, lad, but I'm simply trying to help you. It may be possible that I can break you out of here and… oh well, just carry on."

The prisoner just smiled bitterly and continued with his narrative. This time, the Spaniard started asking questions and interjecting with a vengeance. To save time, we will forget about the interjections and start the narrative in third person, so that the more important questions are taken care of and the narrative assumes a linear flow, rather than a radial one.

Harry Potter had not received any sort of invitation to the so-called meeting. He had run straight to the one person who, he was sure, would help him. The one person who would dispense friendly advice, for a price, of course. The one person, Harry believed, would shield him from the wrathful gaze of the world. Who else, but the old man.

The old men had, from time immemorial, been the actual movers and shakers. They were the ones who secretly controlled the Wizengamot. Some with their sheer force of will, others with their charisma and presence. Albus Dumbledore was one of the latter. With Dumbledore's demise, the power vacuum had been filled in the most dreadful way. His successor as the 'leader' of the Wizengamot had successfully staved attacks from various bodies. The heir to a super fortune, he had used money to get into the Wizengamot and do a few shady deals with various petty crooks. In this way, he had formed a sort of army consisting of petty criminals and other renegade specimens of the same type. They frequently clashed with supporters of other members, and had thus ensured that their leader should become leader of the Wizengamot, unchallenged and unopposed. It was with such a man, did Harry seek audience. One shudders.

What follows this is a conversation between the two, Harry and the old man. To avoid any sort of confusion (and also to save myself from the trouble) they have been written like dialogues in a play. Please bear with me. I will resume the tried and tested formula soon.

Harry entered the old man's chambers. He took a look around and found that the chambers were tastefully, if ostentatiously, furnished. He seemed to have a mania for bloodlines, as the books on the shelf showed. They contained tomes with names like 'A guide to Wizarding Genealogy', 'Rise and fall of the Purebloods', 'Purebloods of the Twentieth Century', 'Whether You are a Pureblood and what Family You Belong to' and others. Behind the desk was a huge tapestry, probably Persian in origin, which contained the bloodline of the Duiwel family, the family he was member of. While Harry was examining the tapestry, the great man himself crept in. Harry, alerted by the shuffling noise, turned towards the source, with his wand at the ready position. Once he had ascertained that the man in front of him was indeed Mr. Henry Duiwel, did he finally relax his grip on the wand.

Mr. Duiwel was a tall man, with a crooked nose and a wry mouth. He spoke with a slight lisp and had a winning smile, which he had often used to his own advantage. He never fidgeted and kept his wand in his right hand at all times. A product of the Auror Academy, he was well known for his manners and charisma. He never lost his temper, spoke courteously with everyone. Even his detractors admitted that he was an uncommonly well groomed man. At least that's what everyone said. What Harry found was slightly out of the ordinary.

All Harry had seen of the old man was black and white pictures in the Daily Prophet. Seeing him for the first time in Technicolor, Harry thought that either the whole world had lied to him, or the supreme Mugwump had taken leave of his senses.

He walked with a slight limp, grimacing all the while. He fidgeted like hell, pulling faces, itching, scratching himself and generally making a fool of himself. For someone who claimed that he could hold himself steadfast at all times, his boasts rang a little hollow at this point of time. He seemed to be very uncomfortable, as if somebody was manipulating him from a great distance. Above all this, he was caustic and brutal.

Duiwel (nastily): Well, boy. What's up with you? Can't give me a moment's peace, you little fool? Why have you come here? Go away and let me rest.

This little speech reminded Harry so much of Mr. Dursley that he again examined the old man to see if he had shrunk a little and grown a paunch. Suffice to say he hadn't.

Harry (respectfully): Sorry sir, but it concerns my life.

Duiwel (attempting a magnanimous gesture): Speak then, my fair man.

A man being alternately rude and friendly. Harry had seen this once before, and that was in the Monty Python reruns. As for the magnanimous gesture, it made him look like he was constipated. Harry frowned. What the hell was happening, he wondered. But before he could say anything, the old man started speaking.

Duiwel: You can rot in hell, you vermin. I will never help you, ever. After all that you've done, how have you the courage to come to my door to beg for mercy? Get out right now, and I may not have to curse you.

Harry's eyes flashed. His hand was almost at his wand, itching to grab it and teach this impolite fool a lesson. However, common sense won the day and he went out quietly. He could almost feel the old man's grin burn a hole on his neck. Though he had worn a mask of respectful distance and agreement, he was thinking furiously. He was sure as hell that the old man was being manipulated. The only question was how.

As a member of the elite corps of aurors, he had trained himself to read the signs that most other wizards either ignored or discarded. While it was nigh impossible to know whether a person was under the influence of polyjuice potion, the person gave himself away sometime or the other, especially if he started acting in a manner contrary to what the person whose guise he had assumed would. Harry's senses screamed that this was a clear case of the old man being hoodwinked, but his experience in this field ruled otherwise. Having taken the potion himself, he knew that this sort of fidgeting would never occur, especially with a person like the supreme Mugwump, one who would have his robes tailored to perfection. Also, Mr. Duiwel was a paranoid fellow who was convinced that everybody was trying to do him in. No, polyjuice was out of the question.

A more probable suggestion was the use of Unforgivables. However, the problem with the Cruciatus curse was that it could not explain the unnecessary fidgeting. No, the only curse that fit the bill was the Imperius curse. The Imperius curse causes the victim of the curse to obey the spoken or unspoken commands of the caster. The experience of being controlled by this curse is described as a complete, wonderful release from any sense of responsibility or worry over one's actions, at the price of one's free will. Resisting the effect of the curse is possible, however, and several individuals have been able to successfully overcome it, including Harry and both of the Crouches, who learn to resist the curse after being subjected to its effects for an extended period.

Fidgeting, Harry had learned, was one of the signs which showed that the person Imperiused person was fighting back. Even the impoliteness would go on to show the same thing. Even so, there was one problem with this satisfactory, if not cheery, solution. It was the eyes.

As you know, the Imperius curse works on the brain. The only exposed part of the brain is the optic nerve, so it is obvious that the curse travels through the brain through the optic nerve. While this is suitable, it leaves behind a trace. A distinct trace. An accomplished auror can detect an Imperius curse simply by looking at the victim's eyes. Though Harry had started working as an auror only this year, he knew the signs.

The Spaniard, who was lying down on his bed, let out a hearty chuckle. "So," He said "Harry Potter, auror extraordinaire lets off the Mugwump because he found that his eyes hadn't gone slightly milky."

"Not milky." An extremely miffed Harry replied. " They… ok its kind off milky. Like a cataract."

"Except the fact that it's the eye color that changes."

"Exactly." Said Harry, not sure where this conversation was going.

"So one of the only ways to find out if someone is Imperiused is by observing the person's eyes?"

Harry pretended to think about it. He knew the answer, all right, and he also knew that the Spaniard knew the answer. So, knowing that the Spaniard would answer anyway, Harry stayed silent. Sure enough, after a moment's contemplation, the Spaniard resumed speaking.

"Do you remember Crouch senior?" He asked Harry.

Harry caught off guard, replied in the affirmative. A moment too late to remember the vow he had made not to answer stupid questions. Clearly, the Spaniard too was a master in getting people to talk.

The Spaniard grinned and said. "So, old Crouch was under the curse, yes? Then tell me, how did he get past Dumbledore?"

Harry had no clue. In fact, this was the first time he had thought about it. Unbidden to him, came a quote Dumbledore had used- "Don't be silly Dawlish, I have no doubt that you are an excellent auror. I seem to remember you got an O in all your NEWTs. But if you persist, I will have to hurt you." Had Harry really thought that Albus Dumbledore was lesser than any elite auror? Of course he hadn't. But the fact still remained that even Dumbledore wasn't perfectly sure if Crouch was under the influence of the Imperius curse. He might have guessed, but he wasn't sure.

That set Harry thinking. _How do you fool the greatest wizard the world has ever seen?_ , He asked himself. He asked out loud. "Well, it could have been a glamour, but it is inadvisable to use it on the eyes. One of the most delicate parts of the body, you know."

The Spaniard smiled and said. "A glamour on the eyes? Want to go blind, lad? Not only is it harmful, it is also potentially fatal. I saw that happen once, long ago." He seemed lost in thought.

"What then is your suggestion? They ripped out his eyeballs?" Harry was in no mood to bandy words. He felt, and rightly so, that he was getting close to something. _Very well_, he thought, _finally I will get some answers. I hope._

The Spaniard's answer was to chuckle and smoke an infernal pipe. Harry wondered how the guards had allowed it. You could smell it from a mile away.

After he had finished laughing, the Spaniard assumed a solemn air and asked Harry. "You have no idea how you can change somebody's eye color?"

"No"

"You spent a part of your childhood with the muggles, didn't you?"

"Yes, but what has that to do with all this? How's that supposed to teach me how to change my eye color?"

"Have you heard of something known as contact lenses?"

"Oh… shit."

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I wonder if anybody gets the implications of the Spaniard's last comment. Harry has, at any rate. Once again, the same thing. Please read and review. Lather, rinse, repeat.


	5. The Spaniard Dictates a Letter

READ THIS FIRST: I have replaced that note with the fourth chapter. Unfortunately, I don't think any of you got an alert for that. So, please read the fourth chapter first. Apart from that, all I can say is- Read and Review (as usual).

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Harry cradled his head in his hands. Contact lenses, why hadn't he thought of that? He knew that there could be no other way. In his desperation, more out of consolation to himself than actual knowledge, he asked the Spaniard. "How is it that Voldemort sanctioned the use of muggle technology?" While this may sound stupid, the question was a valid one.

The Spaniard scratched his head and said. "I don't really know, but I guess it would be because he hated Dumbledore more than he hated muggles. A bigot he might have been, but he knew that Dumbledore was every bit as clever as him, if not more."

Harry's answer was a deep groan.

The Spaniard pretended not to notice. He was busy refilling his pipe with tobacco or whatever it is one fills inside pipes. After he finished, he started speaking again. "Azkaban is the wizard prison. Wizards who violate the laws our world are sent there. Only one other such prison exists and that too is in ruins. Azkaban is located "in the middle of the North Sea". At least, that is what everybody says. Sirius Black mentions that when he (as a dog) swam to Britain from Azkaban, he then traveled northwards to get to Hogwarts. This implies that Azkaban is located at a lower latitude than Hogwarts, which is in Scotland. Generally, only very severe crimes are punished with a term in Azkaban. Many of the prisoners were supporters of Voldemort, though some misunderstandings have resulted in others' imprisonment. Performing any of the Unforgivable Curses on a human is punishable by a mandatory whole life tariff in Azkaban, but that ban has been lifted for aurors. Although several characters throughout the series have performed the curses and not been punished accordingly. Other crimes which merit imprisonment here include assaulting the Ministry, being an unregistered Animagus and impersonating an Inferius.

Azkaban has a reputation of evil and fear all over the world. Azkaban is guarded by the Dementors, working under the British Ministry of Magic. The large presence of Dementors renders the inmates incapable of happiness and forces them to relive their worst memories, as they become gradually helpless and often severely insane. According to Sirius, many inmates simply stop eating and eventually die of starvation. As Dementors are extremely difficult even to injure - the only spell effective against them is the Patronus Charm - Azkaban was long considered impossible to escape, until Sirius escaped (although Barty Crouch Jr had previously broken out with the help of his parents); however, Dumbledore claimed he could break out of Azkaban if he wished to do so.

Six years ago Voldemort's most dangerous and loyal followers escape, including Bellatrix Lestrange. Dumbledore was always vocal in declaring that it was a mistake to guard Voldemort's greatest supporters with Dementors, who have the most to gain if Voldemort returned to power. He was proved right as the Dementors left their posts at Azkaban and join ranks with Voldemort. The prison was still in use, but greatly weakened by the revolt of its wardens. Upon Voldemort's takeover of the Ministry, many political prisoners were sent to Azkaban by Ministry traitor Dolores Umbridge, including Xenophilius Lovegood and Muggle-borns persecuted under Voldemort's implementation of anti-Muggle legislation. Such victims are released following Voldemort's downfall, and Umbridge herself is imprisoned there, along with whichever Death Eaters survived the Battle of Hogwarts."

Harry yawned expansively. "This is all very interesting." He said. "But what has this got to do with me escaping Azkaban?"

"I will repeat myself. Performing any of the Unforgivable Curses on a human is punishable by a mandatory whole life tariff in Azkaban, but that ban has been lifted for aurors."

The penny dropped. Harry's eyes widened. He took great shuddering breaths to control himself, to control his emotions. Exactly like before, he again asked the Spaniard questions regarding the plan, in a bid to iron out any and every flaw in it.

"I wasn't an auror when I had used the curse. That would surely go against me."

"Hardly. You've got to remember that you are a blemish on the Ministry of Magic. You are their greatest hero, greater than even Albus Dumbledore. And you are in prison. Believe me, there would be no greater joy for them than to come here and free you. They want to do that more than you. Right now, your imprisonment has been kept a secret from most people. God only knows how. To free you? They would come begging for an excuse."

"All right. Suppose such a thing happens. What then? And remember, the old man was Imperiused the last time I met him. How do you know that that wouldn't happen this time around? He might have been under its influence all this time."

"You seem to forget that he had started fighting the curse even while he was in a meeting with you. Keeping him under its influence for nine months? That would be impossible. That leads me to believe your enemy is cunning as well as weak. Remind you of anyone?"

"Many people. Most are my enemies but some are my friends too. That does not even exclude the clever ones I know because we don't know the extent of Duiwel's power."

"He was head of the auror department. He must be powerful."

"Magical prowess has nothing to do with resisting the curse. Anyway, we are going off topic. How do you think we should deal with this? Any ideas? Should we get a lawyer or something?"

"There are no lawyers in the wizarding world, lad. No, you need to beg for an interview with the 'old man', as you call him."

"That's what the world calls him, not just me. Anyway, I get your point. How the hell am I supposed to write? With my teeth? I need quills, ink and parchment."

"I'll get it." With that, the Spaniard called out. "Oi Fred! Get me some quills and ink and parchment, will you?"

The guard named Fred replied. "My name is not Fred."

"Well all right, just get us that stuff, will you?"

The guard whose name wasn't Fred thought about it. "Ere," He said suspiciously. "What do you need it for?"

"To make love. We won't try to escape with it ok? What do you think? We will write a letter and…POOF! We are out of here?"

Harry smiled as he heard these words. _You have no idea_, he thought.

"All right Pa, here take it. But give it back, mind. I want it in 10 minutes, sharp."

"All right."

Actually, the letter didn't even require 10 minutes. While the exact details have faded from my memory, a rough draft is as follows.

_To Mr. Duiwel,_

_Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, Second Class_

_Greetings,_

_You may not know me, but I know you very well, having followed your career with the greatest interest. It does not matter that I am currently entombed in Azkaban because of the ruling of the Wizengamot. I am still, let me say it, your fan. While this may seem like a mad man's childish prattling, I beseech you not to discard the letter. I have a valid point._

_It has come to my notice that my ruling has actually been unlawful because I am an auror, and aurors have been given a free reign in times of war. Of course, the fact that I wasn't an auror at that time deserves minute attention._

_I would be highly obliged if you consider my case once again. Of course, I would like to contribute financially to your campaign to become chief warlock. Also, I wouldn't mind telling the Daily Prophet about my obligation to you for your mercy, vision and foresight in getting me out of Azkaban. Of course, I know you are a busy man and can't look after pleas such as my own. If, perchance, you don't reply in a month's time, I will seek interview with Ms. Oaks, who is your rival in a small way. _

_Sincerely_

_Harry Potter_

"Rival in a small way? They will be at each others necks if they think nobody's watching." Smirked Harry.

"I would keep that smirk to myself, it ill becomes you. And anyway, I think the letter is perfect." Said the Spaniard, admiring his handiwork.

The letter was, indeed, well crafted. Bordering on the arrogant, a perfect blend of blackmail and anticipation of reward. The Spaniard was right. The explanation for releasing him didn't even matter, only the reward did. The only thing left was to send it to Mr. Duiwel.

Mr. Duiwel was not a happy man. Not only had the world gotten wind of the fact that the boy-who-lived was in jail, Mr. Duiwel's own image had taken a beating because of it. He cursed Rita Skeeter and her nosy parker ways. Must she be such a loudmouth? He shook his head slowly. There was no way he could become the chief warlock now. His gloomy mood continued as he ordered breakfast, angering his chef in the process.

However, his bad mood was not here to stay. At least, not after he received the first of his letters, which was marked 'Azkaban'. The letter brought news of profound joy to the wannabe chief warlock. He hurriedly bade his half eaten breakfast be taken away and withdrew into his own chambers. The letter from Azkaban, goodness knows what it contained, but it had sent Duiwel into ecstasy. His first order after coming out of his chambers was to request a separate room for Harry and the Spaniard in Azkaban. By request I mean command, because there was no way the governor of Azkaban could spurn Duiwel's 'request'.

Back in Azkaban, believe it or not, Harry and the Spaniard were having the time of their lives. They had been shifted to separate rooms which had all the creature comforts one could wish for. Not only this, it even had a well stocked… bar (did you think I was going to say library?).

"Ah boy, it has been a long time since I've seen the cushiony part of a footstool." Said the Spaniard. "I told you that the plan would work. I know the way politicians are."

"Something tells me that you were one too." Observed Harry.

The Spaniard thought for a moment, perhaps recalling days gone by. He didn't speak for a while, letting the silence settle down between the two. Harry didn't mind. He was too busy with his own thoughts. Even he couldn't believe how well the plan worked. It had succeeded way beyond his wildest expectation. The only thing left to do was to get it in writing that he had been wrongfully convicted. He still hadn't decided how to get the Spaniard free, but in time he would. Perhaps a deal could be concluded with Mr. Duiwel. For a price, of course.

The first thing both he and the Spaniard had done was to get two haircuts (that is, one haircut each. Just in case you started getting ideas.) and a change of linen. Now that they had been washed, fed and clothed, they were free to pursue a leisure activity of their choice. They had almost forgotten they were in Azkaban.

While they were pursuing their own leisure activities, the Supreme Mugwump was busy firecalling one of his close 'friends'. At least, that is the title they used. The conversation went along the lines of:-

Duiwel (referred to as D here): So, do you think this Azkaban letter thing is all right?

'Friend' (referred to as F here): I see no reason why it isn't. I only care about the money, not the way we get it.

D: Yes, you are right. Who cares whose money we steal, as long as it is money that we steal from then. (laughs out loud at his own joke)

F: (not amused) Yes

D: This gives us the chance to grab the Spaniard's fortune. Not only that, we can even grab the Potter fortune and be done with him.

F: What took you so long to zero in on them?

D: I had completely forgotten about them after my initial attempt to take over their fortunes was thwarted. Until this letter happened, I had no idea that they were still alive.

F: But now we have another chance to do the same. You are sure about this Azkaban letter thing? It could be a hoax…

D: I am positive it isn't. Why should it be? I have received these kinds of letters before. Goodness knows how many souls I have freed this way. (starts laughing again)

F: (looks amused this time) Nice way to put it. 'souls you have freed'. (shakes his head)

D: Right now, I have put those two in swanky rooms.

F: Will you go and meet them?

D: There is no need to. My team will conclude this. My presence is not required.

F: I will take your leave then. Contact me after this unsavory business is concluded.

After the old man had finished, he rang for a cup of coffee. While he progressed to the sitting room, his secretary behind him. He was walking too fast for his secretary who, after all, was wearing stilettos. She had almost reached the threshold of the sitting room when she noticed a scrap of paper on the floor. A letter bearing the stamp of Azkaban. Being nosy by disposition, she bent down and picked it up to read it. What she read made her turn white. What was worse was that Duiwel had seen her reading the letter.

Duiwel beckoned her to enter the room. What happened, no one knows. What we do know is that a small article was published in the Prophet on page 13. It said:

_Mr. Duiwel's Secretary Killed by a Speeding Driver_

The driver was never found. We can draw our own conclusions to what happened to the poor secretary.

After all, what did the letter say that caused the death of somebody who merely read it? Was the letter written by Harry so destructive? Doubtful, I should say. More can be explained if we read a small scrap of paper found on the secretary's desk. Interestingly, it was never found by the auror investigation team led by Draco Malfoy. Even more interesting was the fact that the finding of that scrap of paper coincided with the loss of Mr. Duiwel's scrap. Let us read the scrap and see for ourselves. The scrap says

_Potter and the Spaniard will be dead by tonight_

_Hanzao_

Harry and the Spaniard's letter hadn't even reached the old man. This letter from Azkaban was from someone else. Someone who wanted to kill them both.

* * *

Second time in a row that I have not put in a cliffhanger! (I'm getting good at this) However I did put that awful shuddering anticipation thing in the end where everybody goes 'oooh' and 'aaaah'. How did you like it? Did your blood run cold or did you shudder with anticipation or what? I want to know. Please drop me a line with that review thingie 'k?


	6. Escape

Here I am, after an extended hiatus. I wasn't off , it was just that I was uploading a few chapters of 'FiC' my new fic (I like the sound of that)

So here is another chapter of Judgement of Nemesis. I havn't really used my sleuthing skills to sniff out errant grammar, so I will be pleased if you do it for me. Do tell me whether it was good or my thriller writing skills have faded.

* * *

Coincidence. What a lovely word… coincidence. How often do we use it? Many times, I gather. Coincidence can save your life, as our two most favorite prisoners were about to find out. How, you ask? Wait, I'll tell you.

The two prisoners, in spite of all the luxury, still remained prisoners. They were in a gilded cage. Gilded it might be, but it was still a cage. Bored out of their wits, they had taken to building castles in the air. Harry was all for letting go and embracing his loved ones, while the Spaniard disagreed.

"…but there is no need for revenge now, is there?" Harry was saying.

"Lad, but you don't know who got you into this mess. It was not due to that cruciatus curse thing, we know that for sure. How do you know that the people won't try to do you in once again?"

Harry pretended to think about it. He knew that the Spaniard was right, but something about going back home filled his mind with sunshine. It was impossible to think about revenge when your mind is filled up with questions like 'will Ginny like the new cocktail dress I will buy her?' and 'I wonder if I will have bacon and eggs for breakfast tomorrow?' He had been effectively 'domesticated'. The Spaniard just shook his head. He knew which way his friend's mind was going. He had seen this happen before.

"And what will you do if you are assassinated?" The Spaniard asked.

"Lie six feet under, I guess." Harry replied.

"No, you misunderstand me. I mean, what if the people who conspired against you try to do the same once you are released?"

"Oh, we will think about something. Just let me get out of here. Oh look, it is that guard you gave the letter to. What is he doing here?" It was the guard whose name wasn't Fred

"Ere," he said. "I know. I know what you will say. I just bring you food. I post the letter by today. No need to ask"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So you still haven't posted it?"

"No. I will, today. I swear. Please don't report me, sir. I will do it by today, this very instance."

I don't think I need to point out the difference in the guard's manner when he guarded the two and now, when he served the two. That is obvious. But it was not the manner in which the words were pronounced that made the two prisoners sit up. It was the words he spoke.

The Spaniard looked up from the book he was reading. His mind, great though it might be in other areas, failed to comprehend what Harry's soldier sense had comprehended in a moment. "So…" He said slowly, almost to himself. "If that was the case, then why are we…?"

Harry shot him a warning look and then hastily turned around to face the guard who, as usual, had noticed nothing. Though he appeared calm and composed, his mind was going into overdrive. Who had gotten them out of the dungeons? Why had they? Was it a mistake? A plot to murder them? And if so, why?

An Auror is a member of an elite unit of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic trained to capture Dark wizards and witches. Auror training is very difficult and intensive, so there are few qualified applicants. It is extremely difficult to fulfill the requirements of Auror training, let alone to pass the training with high marks. Applicants must first have excellent academic credentials before they are accepted into a rigorous training program. To be accepted, one has to have a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s in challenging subjects such as Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology, and no grade lower than "Exceeds Expectations" in any of these subjects. Then, prospective Aurors are required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests to show they react well under pressure. If accepted into Auror training, applicants are then required to train extensively in advanced magical combat and other elements of practical defence, as well as methods of criminal investigation.

During auror training, one mantra is firmly embedded into your mind. Coincidence does not exist. It was not coincidence that the guard came to them, it was opportunity. The old auror who had trained him always used to say. "Coincidence is nothing. If something happens twice, that means there is a loose end somewhere."

Harry knew what he had to do. Fate had presented him with an admirable opportunity. All he had to do was to take it. "Look here," he said to the guard. "My good man, forget that the letter ever existed. There is no need for it now. Just burn it and never tell anybody about it. Do this right and I might just drop in a good word about you."

The guard assented wholeheartedly and went away to burn the letter. When the Spaniard had made sure that the guard was gone, he locked the door and said, "What the hell was that?"

Harry grinned at him. It was not a friendly grin or a cheerful grin. When he grinned like that, you expected him to transform into a werewolf. There was something undeniably wolfish about the grin. "It means," he said. "That we have a problem. And not any old problem either. One which can either lead us to safety or annihilate us. The question is, what will it be? Life or death? Victory or defeat? I, for one, am a pessimistic sort of fellow and I think that I won't live to see tomorrow. What is your opinion, Mr. Spaniard?"

The Spaniard considered his companion. "Now, don't you start philosophizing. We need a plan."

"Plan is a pretty vague term for what I had in mind."

The two prisoners waited until nightfall. They both knew that it was the ideal time for an assassin. Now, the only thing left to do was to ambush him and attack him. The more they could find about this mysterious foe, the better. While they were waiting, they thought that they might as well discuss the plan. Anything but listen to the Spaniard's near constant stream of petulance.

Nightfall came and along with it came the assassin. He was, as was usual with assassins, wearing some sort of skintight jumpsuit made out of some dark material. He entered the room stealthily. However, this was not what Harry cared for. It was a set of keys he carried which had been charmed so that they didn't rattle. The charm was not the important thing here; it was the set of keys. The keys to a secret passage out of Azkaban.

After the betrayal of the dementors, which nearly led to the destruction of Azkaban, the prisons had to be guarded by low level aurors and trainees. They were shown all the secret passageways out of Azkaban. Harry, who had been the deputy governor of Azkaban, had the keys to all these passageways. It was his job to personally inspect each and every passageway each and every night. He knew this particular set of keys very well; he knew where this was going to lead. It was undeniably cruel of him to do what he was going to do, but it was all he had.

Springing out of his hiding place, he hailed the assassin. "Good sir," he said. "I know what you are here for. I also know what that set of keys means. My only wish is that you kill us outside, where we can smell the sea and look at the sky. I don't mind dying, but I don't want my head severed with that pointy sword thing. A nice AK would do."

The assassin removed his mask. It wasn't a man at all, it was a woman. And not just any woman, a woman Harry knew. He could have recognized those features anywhere.

"It is not a pointy sword thing," said Cho Chang. "It is a katana."

From his own hiding place, the Spaniard saw the drama being played out before him. Not only had Harry given himself up, he proceeded to point out the Spaniard's hiding place as well. He had even started groveling at the assassin's feet, begging her to kill him outside of Azkaban so as to 'smell the sea and look at the sky' or something like that. The Spaniard gathered that the assassin was an acquaintance of Harry's; owing to the way he was talking with her.

The assassin agreed to the prisoner's demand, owing to the fact (though she would never tell him or anybody else) that he was her ex-sweetheart. _After all_, she said to herself, _what can a broken down wreck of a man do to me? After six months in Azkaban, he is lucky enough to be making a coherent statement, let alone plot an escape._

She had forgotten the golden rule of assassins. Never underestimate your enemies. This mistake, as she was about to find out, would prove fatal. Before she had any idea what she had gotten herself into, the Spaniard jumped out of his hiding place to join Harry and Cho.

Even though Cho thought about her two prisoners in the most flippant of terms, she did not find it reason enough to let her guard down, literally. After a while, Harry started getting pissed of with her. "At least walk in the front," he told Cho. "That katana thing is poking into my back and hurting me."

Surprisingly, Cho obliged. It was a mistake, one which would lead to her unfortunate and premature demise. The Spaniard meanwhile, was trying to make sense out of Harry's plan. Until now, all he knew of the plan was what he had seen. He began to put two and two together. First of all, Harry wanted Cho to lead the way; second of all, he was a rookie when Azkaban had removed all the dementors. He ought to have worked here. The Spaniard could not devise any sort of plan based on these two pieces of information. The only way out, the Spaniard decided, was if Harry had a genius plan up his sleeve or if the Spaniard started praying to god for a miracle, a god who the Spaniard hadn't bothered to pray to for the past forty years. The Spaniard started praying.

As it turned out, there was no need for it because Harry knew precisely what he was doing. As the deputy governor of Azkaban, he had been the keeper of the keys. In addition to 'keeping' the keys, he also had to familiarize himself with all the passageways of Azkaban. Even though it had been nigh a year, he still recognized the key in possession of the assassin.

Most passageways in Azkaban had been built so that the wizards who were in charge of Azkaban could flee to safety, if disaster struck. There was one such escape route inside the governor's study, another near the offices of the administrators and one for the common staff. That particular key, he recalled, led to a passageway which was booby trapped. Why was that? Simply because it was near the main prison, the place were most of the prisoners were housed. The prisoners, even if they managed to find their way out of the prison, would instantly be killed if they managed to gain this escape route.

Once they came to the entrance of the passageway, Harry received a surprise. Instead of opening the door herself, the assassin threw the key to Harry, who deftly caught it in his left hand. "Open the door," she said.

Alarm bells started ringing in Harry's head. Suddenly, dying in the swanky room didn't seem so bad. Harry had precious little now in the way of a plan. He knew that once he opened the door, he would have only fifteen more feet to walk before he was killed. He had about five minutes to live and devise a plan, if he walked slowly, that is. Otherwise, he would be dead meat on a skewer.

The plan came to him all of a sudden. While he was walking up the passageway, convinced that each step would be his last, he stumbled upon a projection of stone and cut himself. While it was only a flesh wound, Harry did not hesitate from using it to his own advantage. "My side," he said, clutching the aforementioned, "it is burning. Get me some water, please." Harry silently congratulated himself on his acting skills. He always thought that he could have become a great actor if he had given Hollywood a try. He kept up a series of groans and snuffles to entertain his audience.

Cho meanwhile, was suffering from a dilemma. Not only was her ex hurt, he was also crying out loud, too loud. Loud enough for a passing guard to overhear. Getting her sword ready, she said, "farewell, Harry. I know thou are in pain, but that will not last. With the help of my katana, I will send thee to the ether. May the gods bless thee."

Harry rolled his eyes. Who the hell says 'thee' and 'thou' nowadays? One suspects that the assassin had learnt her craft out of some old book. Before the assassin struck him the blow, he said, "Please, Cho. Please let me live a moment longer. There is a spring right outside this passageway, some two hundred feet away. You will get fresh water. Please Cho, do me this favor, I beg of you. I won't die in agony."

Cho seemed to be caught in some sort of internal battle. This went against every rule in her book, yet, she was doing this. It never struck her why she was fain to do everything by the book. It was because assassins who played by the book had more chance of surviving. Suddenly making a decision, she locked the door of the passageway and went out to get Harry some water. Scarcely had she advanced five feet that darts erupted from the wall in front of her.

Without saying a word, Harry forced the Spaniard down onto his haunches. It was a close thing; one of the darts parted the Spaniard's hair as it went past. Scarcely had the darts stopped flying about, Harry went to investigate what happened to Cho.

Cho still held her katana, in the rigor mortis of death. Gazing into her dark eyes, Harry got the feeling that she was only knocked out. The blood leaking out of her mouth and the darts embedded in her chest told an entirely different story.

Event though it was he who had plotted her demise, Harry couldn't stop his eyes from welling with unshed tears. Never would he be able to admire her beautiful features, here dark eyes, long black hair, up-turned nose again. Never would he be able to look upon her again. She was a girl who was subject to a lot many firsts of Harry's life. And now, he had killed her.

**Flashback**

_'What kept you?' he asked, as Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione's._

_Harry didn't answer. He was in a state of shock. Half of him wanted to tell Ron and Hermione what had just happened, but the other half wanted to take the secret with him to the grave._

_'Are you all right, Harry?' Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill._

_Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. In truth, he didn't know whether he was all right or not. _

_'What's up?' said Ron, hoisting himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. _

_'What's happened?'_

_Harry didn't quite know how to set about telling them, and still wasn't sure whether he wanted to. Just as he had decided not to say anything, Hermione took matters out of his hands._

_'Is it Cho?' she asked in a businesslike way. 'Did she corner you after the meeting?'_

_Numbly surprised, Harry nodded. Ron sniggered, breaking off when Hermione caught his eye._

_'So - er - what did she want?' he asked in a mock casual voice._

_'She -' Harry began, rather hoarsely; he cleared his throat and tried again. 'She - er -'_

_'Did you kiss?' asked Hermione briskly._

_Ron sat up so fast he sent his ink bottle flying all over the rug. Disregarding this completely, he stared avidly at Harry._

_'Well?' he demanded._

_Harry looked from Ron's expression of mingled curiosity and hilarity to Hermione's slight frown, and nodded._

_'HA!'_

_Ron made a triumphant gesture with his fist and went into a raucous peal of laughter that made several timid-looking second-years over beside the window jump. A reluctant grin spread over Harry's face as he watched Ron rolling around on the hearthrug._

_Hermione gave Ron a look of deep disgust and returned to her letter._

_'Well?' Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. 'How was it?'_

_Harry considered for a moment._

_'Wet,' he said truthfully._

_Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell._

_'Because she was crying,' Harry continued heavily._

_'Oh,' said Ron, his smile fading slightly. 'Are you that bad at kissing?'_

_'Dunno,' said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. 'Maybe I am.'_

_'Of course you're not,' said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter._

_'How do you know?' said Ron very sharply._

_'Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,' said Hermione vaguely. 'She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.'_

_'You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,' said Ron, grinning._

_'Ron,' said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her inkpot, 'you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.'_

_'What's that supposed to mean?' said Ron indignantly. 'What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?'_

_'Yeah,' said Harry, slightly desperately, 'who does?'_

_Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face. 'Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?' she asked._

_'No,' said Harry and Ron together._

_Hermione sighed and laid down her quill._

_'Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly.'_

_A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, and then Ron said, 'One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.'_

_'Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have,' said Hermione nastily picking up her quill again._

_'She was the one who started it,' said Harry. 'I wouldn't have - she just sort of came at me - and next thing she's crying all over me - I didn't know what to do —'_

_'Don't blame you, mate,' said Ron, looking alarmed at the very thought._

_'You just had to be nice to her,' said Hermione, looking up anxiously. 'You were, weren't you?'_

'_Well,' said Harry, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face, 'I sort of - patted her on the back a bit.'_

_Hermione looked as though she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes with extreme difficulty._

When Hermione had gone back to writing her letter, Ron quietly dragged Harry to a secluded corner and asked him, "Are you going to tell me what really happened?"

Harry was caught off guard by this remark. Too surprised to deny the statement, he simply asked Ron, "How did you know?"

Ron chuckled at the statement. "I might not be a Hermione Granger," he said, "but I sure as hell can guess. You see, it is Hermione's 'holier than thou' attitude that is the deterrent. I could never have guessed that you were down there with Cho, but if I could, I would certainly have put two and two together. So did you and Cho…?"

Harry nodded his head. Clearly, Ron had more brains than anyone gave him credit for. Just to keep the conversation going, he asked, "So, what led you to the conclusion? I may simply have been kissing her."

Ron gave him a roguish wink. "That is all right," he said, "but as a boy, I cannot imagine Harry Potter kissing a girl for half an hour. Even if it were fifteen minutes, I would have bought that lie, but half an hour? Don't be stupid. As I said, it's only Hermione's… well, forget it. So, how was it?"

Harry smiled and shook his head. Ron was a decent guy, but he became irrepressible when it came to women. Then again, he was a man. Decent doesn't even come close to describing any of us.

**Flashback Ends**

The Spaniard watched Harry, who seemed to collapse on Cho's body. _Poor lad_, he thought_, has to suffer so much_. Aloud, he said," I know you are consumed with sorrow, lad. But remember, she would have died one way or the other. This passageway was chosen because they knew that it would have killed her. She should have killed us in our rooms and this passageway would have killed her. A clean job, you see. Both prisoners' dead, along with their assassin. No one left alive to give any sort of information to the ministry, in theory."

Harry nodded his head. "Whoever conspired to kill me," he said, "wherever he or she might be, I will make them pay."

The Spaniard nodded. Now Harry was talking

* * *

A few points to be cleared up.

1) I believe Cho still loved Harry and that is why she was indulgent.

2) Harry blamed himself for her death too, until the Spaniard reminded him that Cho was meant to die anyway. She was given the keys to a booby trapped escape route for a reason.

3) The two prisoners are finally free.

4) I think we can all draw our own conclusions from the excerpt from OotP. The italicized thing is the excerpt and the rest is sll mine. Don't worry, I don't want to make Harry a playboy just for the heck of it. It serves a greater purpose.


	7. The Death of Harry Potter

The man drinking black coffee...

Oh sorry, don't listen to me. Read Rita Skeeter's article and enjoy.

* * *

The man held a copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand. Settling himself down in one of diagon alley's swankier eateries ('no chance of finding a slug in the coffee, good sir!'). Once he had ordered his customary black, he unrolled the paper. The headline was of the sort no one could ever predict. The man sighed, _way to go,_ he thought, _they took their own sweet time, the bastards._

_Harry Potter is Dead!_

_By Rita Skeeter _

_A sensational cover up attempt by the Ministry is thwarted today by the Daily Prophet. We at the Daily Prophet have reason to believe that Harry Potter has been murdered by the aurors sent to search for him. While the auror department and the minister himself have denied this, but we, at the Daily Prophet have photographs to prove what they have seen with their own eyes. We warn you beforehand that these pictures are not suitable for those who are fainthearted. Toddlers and adolescents may also be kept away from the pictures, printed on page 13._

_Early years: 1980-1981  
_

_Harry James Potter was born on __July 31, 1980__, in Godric's Hollow to __Lily__ and __James Potter__. James Potter's best friend, __Sirius Black__, was named Harry's godfather. __Sirius__, __James__, and __Lily__ were all part of the __Order of the Phoenix__, a group of witches and wizards who were desperately fighting against __Dark lord__. They were outnumbered and many of them were killed, but they fought on. __James__ and __Lily__ had narrowly escaped Dark lord three times during this time. It has been claimed that James Potter gave the death eaters full rights to Lily's body in exchange for his own freedom. This of course, makes Harry's boasts about his parentage (he claimed that he was descended from the Peverells) suspect._

_Before Harry was born, a __prophecy__ had been made about a boy to be born at the end of July which indicated that this person would be able to defeat the Dark lord heard part of this prophecy because one of his Death Eaters, Severus Snape, was eavesdropping. The Dark lord resolved to destroy the child. Both Harry and another child, Neville Longbottom, would have fit the prophecy, but Dark lord decided that Harry must be the one and went after him, possibly due to the aura of darkness around him. James and Lily knew that Dark lord was trying to kill Harry, and by October of 1981, they had used the __Fidelius Charm__ to hide themselves away. Unfortunately, the person they chose as Secret Keeper for the Charm, Sirius Black, turned out to be a double agent who revealed their location to Dark lord. _

_On the evening of October 31, 1981, the Dark lord came to __Godric's Hollow__, the town where James and Lily were living as Muggles, and attacked. James tried to negotiate with Dark lord off at the door but failed; he was killed there. Lily tried to run with Harry but Dark lord caught her. Because of a promise he'd made to Snape, he offered to spare her life, but she stood in his way and he killed her to get to Harry. This sacrifice turned out to be vitally important, for it was the ancient magic of this act that protected the child. When Dark lord's __Killing Curse__ hit Harry, the protection of Lily's sacrifice made the curse rebound onto Dark lord, who was all but killed. The curse left an ugly curse scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on Harry's forehead. _

_The battle between the Potters and Dark lord left the house in ruins. Hogwarts Headmaster __Albus Dumbledore__ dispatched Hagrid to go to __Godric's Hollow__ and retrieve Harry. Hagrid managed to rescue Harry before the Muggles had a chance to investigate and interfere. While he was there, Hagrid encountered Sirius Black, who asked that Harry be given to him, since he was the boy's godfather. Hagrid refused, since he was following Dumbledore's orders to retrieve the boy. Sirius lent Hagrid his __flying motorcycle__ to fly Harry to safety. _

_It is unclear where Hagrid and Harry were for the next twenty-four hours. Dumbledore apparently spent the time arranging for Harry's safe keeping in Privet Drive, but even __McGonagall__ didn't know what was going on. The next evening, she met Dumbledore in Privet Drive and shortly thereafter Hagrid arrived on the flying motorcycle with Harry. In a controversial decision, the three of them left Harry in a bundle of blankets on the doorstep of __number four__, the home of Harry's last surviving blood relatives, the __Dursleys__. _

_A Decade of Luxury (1981-1991)  
_

_For the next ten years, Harry lived a life of luxury and extravagance. His __Aunt Petunia__, Lily's sister, and his __Uncle Vernon__ were reportedly threatened by Dumbledore in a letter he sent to Petunia. The letter promised them excruciating pain of anything was wrong with Harry by the time he came to Hogwarts. In spite of everything, they were warned never to tell him about his true identity. They (the Dursleys) supposedly told him that his parents had died in a car crash, which was also how he got the scar on his head. They ignored their own son __Dudley__ who, as a result became a bully, while making Harry sleep in the largest bedroom they had. The number one rule in the Dursley household was 'Don't ask questions.' Their goal was to keep him happy and satisfied in the hopes that they wouldn't ever have to face Albus Dumbledore's wrath. They sent him to the same school as Dudley, who was warned not to say anything to Harry or even disagree with him. However, there was a bad side to this. The other kids at school tended to avoid Harry because they didn't want to be with someone as arrogant and pompous as Harry._

_Despite the efforts of the Dursleys, Harry still managed to find fault with everything the Dudley's did to please him. At one point, when Aunt Petunia was told by Harry to make 'one boiled egg and one fried egg', he even managed to find fault with that, saying that she had boiled the wrong egg. Whatever the situation at the home front may be, Harry was not satisfied with his school life. As a result, he started wearing ripped, oversized clothes and started telling everybody that he was physically and mentally abused by the Dursleys. It is hard to believe, but some people actually bought these slanderous lies._

_Periodically during these years, Uncle Vernon's sister __Marge__ would visit the Dursleys. Harry took great delight in tormenting her. She would give expensive presents to Harry and either something horrible or nothing at all to Dudley (the Dursley kid). She brought her pet bulldog, __Ripper__, to visit and when Harry was nine, he actually allowed the dog to chase Dudley up a tree, where he had to remain until Harry called the dog off after midnight. _

_By the time he was ten years old, Harry had grown into a skinny, __knobbly__-kneed boy with untidy black hair and a narrow face. This was not because of the so called 'cruelty' he suffered. It was simply a not so clever ploy designed by a not so clever boy to elicit sympathy from other people. He 'wore' glasses which were 'broken and taped from repeated blows aimed at him by Dudley'. Nothing, and I repeat, nothing can be further from the truth. He still lived in the largest room in the Dursley house, but he started claiming that he was forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs. _

_His life changed abruptly during the summer of 1991. Strange letters began arriving which frightened his aunt and uncle into fleeing the house and running to hide in a hut on a rock out at sea. Some people believe that this was just a lie propagated by Dumbledore, and it was actually brandishing a gun which had caused the Dursleys to panic. In the midst of a huge storm, with waves crashing on the rock, just after midnight, the half giant spawn of Fridwulfa, Hagrid arrived on the rock where he discovered that Harry had no idea that he was a wizard. Hagrid did his best to explain to the boy all about his past, and when morning came on July 31, 1991, Hagrid took Harry to Diagon Alley to shop for the things he would need for school. A few weeks later, on September 1, Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express and was taken to __Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry__. _

_School Years (1991-1997)  
_

_Harry's years at Hogwarts were in some ways typical of any young wizard. He made friends with __Remus Weasley__ while still on the train ride to school. It took a little longer for him and Ron to warm up to Hermoin Granger, but after a shared experience with a troll over Halloween, the three became inseparable. This three-way friendship was destined to change the world for the better. At least, that is what most people claim. How true this was, nobody could tell._

_During his first year, Harry discovered that __Dark lord__ had possessed Professor __Quirrell__ and was trying to steal the __Philosopher's Stone__ to attain immortality. Harry at first suspected another teacher, Professor __Snape__, who seemed to hate Harry for no reason at all. In the end, Harry defeated Dark lord and the Dark lord fled. While this may have been cause for celebration, most eyewitnesses say that Harry forced the dark lord to flee by throwing a grindylow at him. Not very brave, one must say._

_You know who did not return in Harry's second year, but a strange phantom version of the Dark lord emerged from __an old diary__ and almost killed Roland's sister __Granny__. Harry managed to save Grainy and destroy the diary. At the time, he didn't understand what the implications of this were, but Dumbledore began to suspect that Dark lord had used the book as a __Horcrux__. Dumbledore began to investigate this possibility so that he may acquire horcruxes for himself. _

_The hatred aimed at him by Professor Snape was explained to some extent during Harry's third year. His new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, __Professor Lupin__, turned out to have been a close friend of James Potter. Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was suspected of trying to kill Harry, but was in fact trying to protect him from __Percy__ Pettigrew, in disguise as a rat. In a dramatic confrontation, Pettigrew was revealed and nearly executed by Lupin and Sirius, but Harry spared his life. The story of his father's friendship with Sirius and Lupin and his hatred of Snape came out. Snape, it appeared, had transferred his hatred of James to Harry. Even this time around, Harry did the stupid thing. Rather than having Black face the justice loving Wizengamot, he and Dumbledore inexplicably chose to hide him somewhere. Now, seven years after Black's death, Harry still has his godfather's blood on his hands._

_In his fourth year, Harry found himself part of a nefarious plan aimed at getting him away from the protection of Dumbledore; Dark lord thought he needed Harry's blood to regain his body. Harry was startled to find himself the unwilling fourth champion in the __Triwizard tournament__, the last prize of which had been transformed into a Portkey. What happens thereafter, nobody knows. According to Harry, he was whisked away to a lonely graveyard where he was tied up and his blood used in a ritual that resulted in Dark lord's rebirth. The Dark lord called his __Death Eaters__ to him and then dueled Harry. Unexpectedly, Harry and Dark lord found that their wands, when used against each other, created a strange effect where phantom forms of the people Dark lord had killed appeared. These included James and Lily, and they gave Harry the strength he needed to break the effect and run. He managed to grab the __Portkey__ and return to Hogwarts, where he revealed that Dark lord had returned. I don't know if anybody is daft enough to believe this. Whatever yarn the boy might have spun, he was never able to effectively silence those who claimed that he had killed Cedric, the boyfriend of his secret love, Cho Chang._

_When he came back to Hogwarts for his fifth year, Harry discovered that no one believed him about Dark lord's rebirth. In fact, the __Minister of Magic__Cornelius Fudge__ was actively trying to discredit Harry by making it seem that he was mad or seeking glory. This was a lie. Minister Fudge assigned his assistant, __Dolores Umbridge__, to Hogwart and Harry quickly ran afoul of her. This was because of Harry's vicious streak, one which no one, but Dolores, had tried to control. To do so, she stopped him playing Quidditch, she tried to force him to admit that he was lying about Dark lord, and refused to allow students to learn to use offensive and defensive spells, preferring them to simply read about the theory. Just to spite her, Harry gathered a group of students called __Dumbledore's Army__ and trained them himself. All through that year, Harry found that his scar was giving him a painful connection to Dark lord's thoughts. You know who realized this as well, and used that connection to invade his dreams and draw Harry to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve a recording of the Prophecy about the two of them which was stored there. You know who had only heard part of it and wanted to know the rest to try to understand what went wrong in the graveyard battle. Harry went to the Ministry and fought with the Death Eaters there, but in the end it is Dumbledore who battled you know who, and the Dark lord fled once again. _

_Harry had to face the reality of his situation. Because of various circumstances, he and he alone could defeat Dark lord. Rather than trying to kill him in the Ministry, he comfortably sat down to watch Dumbledore and you know who slug it out. Of course, now that Harry had become smart, he loudly proclaimed that his dead godfather was 'innocent' and he would kill 'all those responsible for his death'. Harry came out of his horrible fifth year determined to do whatever he had to do to make that happen. Dumbledore began to teach Harry more about Dark lord's past. Together they learned that Dark lord had created a series of __Horcruxes__ to split his soul into seven parts and thereby gain immortality. Harry would have to destroy the Horcruxes before he tried to kill Dark lord. Harry accompanied Dumbledore on a quest to find one of the Horcruxes and Dumbledore was seriously injured by a potion. When they returned, the found a battle underway as Death Eaters had infiltrated the castle. Dumbledore flew to the topmost tower where a Dark Mark was burning and was killed there by Snape. Harry prepared himself for what was to come._

_The Horcrux hunt and the Deathly Hallows  
_

_Harry never returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year; the Ministry fell to Dark lord during the summer and Dumbledore had told him that he urgently needed to find the four remaining Horcruxes. Instead of telling other wizards who were more experienced than him about the quest 'assigned' to him, he and his two sidekicks went on a rambling journey across England. Harry, Ronaldo and Hermes spent next nine months in hiding trying to locate and destroy the Horcruxes. Actually, they spent eight and a half months trekking and about fifteen days trying to destroy Horcruxes. First they found the locket Horcrux by infiltrating the Ministry (destroyed by Ronaldson with Gryffindor's Sword). The second, Hufflepuff's cup, was obtained by breaking into a vault in Gringotts. The remaining Horcruxes were Dark lord's snake Nagini, and some unknown object possibly associated with Ravenclaw. Along the way they learned about the __Deathly Hallows__, three powerful magic items which would supposedly make a person the master of death. The thought of all that power within reach threatened to distract Harry from the Horcrux quest, but after his house elf Dobby died, Harry was able to see what needed to be done more clearly. The trio left for Hogwarts. Their own experience, according to the 'golden trio', is as under. Their words, mind you. Their words, not mine._

'_But time was running out. Dark lord had finally discovered that Harry was seeking his Horcruxes, and decided to trap Harry at the school. As the battle began, Harry searched for and found the unknown Horcrux, the Diadem of Ravenclaw. With Ron and Hermione's help (and inadvertently Crabbe's), he destroyed the Cup and the Diadem; only the snake was left. Harry sought Dark lord, knowing Nagini would be nearby, and arrived in time to witness Dark lord's murder of Severus Snape and collect the memories Snape released to him. Snape's memories were shocking. Harry learned of Snape's unrequited love for his mother Lily, his reason for his loyalty to Dumbledore, and that he himself contained a Horcrux. Harry realized that he had to die if Dark lord was ever to be killed, and so willingly went into the Forest to sacrifice himself where he stepped in front of Dark lord and was killed._

_But he didn't die, because of the blood they shared during Dark lord's rebirthing three years ago. Dark lord had unknowingly protected the one person who could kill him. Dark lord also did not realize that his attempt to become the master of the Elder wand was still unsuccessful. Unbeknownst to the Dark lord, it was Harry who was now the master of that wand._

_Dark lord approached the castle with Harry's supposedly dead body and demanded that all surrender. Not surprisingly, no one did. __Neville Longbottom__, who at one time it seemed the prophecy may have been referring to, stood boldly in front of the dark lord and defied him, then killed the snake. That was the last Horcrux to go. The battle raged into the Entrance Hall and from there to the Great Hall, where Harry finally faced you know who. Harry offered him one last chance, that he feel some remorse. The dark lord refused and tried once again to kill Harry. Harry cast a disarming charm and the Elder wand, recognizing its master, flew to him. You know who's spell rebounded back on himself, and he was killed.'_

_Harry Potter was the leader of the light side during the second war, after the death of Dumbledore. Said to be acting on the 'instructions' left by Dumbledore, Harry Potter led the Death Eaters to a merry dance across the length and breadth of England. During this time I was his only friend, as I can now reveal after his death. And as his friend, I can exclusively reveal to you, that this whole thing written above is pure and utter balderdash. He often came to me for advice during this time, unbeknownst to Rollin Weasley and Harmony Granger who were with him. Harry later defeated You-Know-Who in a duel. According to certain eyewitnesses, Harry Potter hoodwinked the dark lord by throwing Gillyweed at him and then killing him with a gun (a type of metal wand used by muggles to kill each other). Were this shocking display of cowardice not enough, he proceeded to steal the dark lord's wand and run towards the Headmaster's chamber. Eyewitnesses also claim that the gargoyle refused to allow him in. He played no part in destroying the Horcruxes, according to John McHoots, who claims that he was the one who had destroyed the Horcruxes. This Knight Bus ex conductor has claimed that he was the one who actually destroyed the Horcruxes as a favor for Harry. It is a shame that Harry could not or would not reveal this to anyone. Why would Harry do such a thing? Obviously, to take all the glory._

_It was as if Harry could not stay out of controversy. Barely three years later, he was accused of using the Cruciatus curse on a wizard. The wizengamot found him guilty and handed him a life imprisonment. Barely had six months passed that he escaped. And now, four years later, he is dead. While the Ministry still denies it, the photos on page 13 will overcome all your doubts. The Ministry may be comatose on this matter; it is my personal opinion that Harry should never have been killed. Obviously, the aurors who were in hot pursuit of Harry were greenhorns. At first sight, one is likely to look upon this news as false and the Harry who was killed as a bogus. Even the auror I spoke to was of the opinion, at first. "His magical signature was nowhere near Potter's at the time of his imprisonment. At this point in time, his powers should have waxed stronger, Potter being in the prime of his life and all."_

_A prominent magical theorist, Professor Tufty is of the opinion that the shocking loss of magical power was not so surprising. "I have written extensively about this in my book 'The Guide to Magical Signature," he said. "You see, magic is ruled by our emotions. His time in Azkaban would have done him no good. The thought of such a dank and horrible place is enough to make my magic tremble. Often, it is also seen that cowardly people are very weak in the use of magic. Your unmasking of the truth behind Potter's so called 'daring' deeds proves that Potter was a coward through and through."_

_To those who have started hoping that that Harry is alive, stop doing so. He is stone dead. Just to clinch matters, he was found with the wand belonging to Cho Chang, the girl who had been killed by Potter while he was making his mistake. Another thing is that the corpse has been put through all sorts of tests for concealment charms. Everything has come out clean, so the face of the dead body is the dead body's own, and the face is rendered in razor sharp detail. The most famous face of the wizarding world…_

In his dining room, Ron sat stock still. The jibes about him didn't even hurt; all the wild accusations about Harry didn't hurt. Ron's first thought was neither for himself and nor for Harry; it was for his wife, Hermione Weasley nee Granger. Hermione was eight months pregnant and the healers at St. Mungo's had expressly forbidden him from giving her bad news of any sort. Harry's death, for all he knew, could be distressing in the most. Any sort of plan he was making was thwarted by the arrival of his wife.

"What are you supposed to be doing, Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

Ron, who had finished setting fire to the newspaper, smiled. "Nothing at all, dear," he said. He had forgotten how his own mother used to act with his further. Maybe Hermione was channeling his mother's spirit.

Hermione raised one eyebrow. "Why did you just set fire to the paper, didn't you know that I hadn't read it?"

Ron tried to look ashamed but he did not manage to pull of the expression properly. "Oh, sorry for that," he said, "but why do you care about some pesky thing like news? Come on, let us enjoy today. I'll take the day off and we'll have fun. What say?"

Hermione considered it for a moment. Finding the plan to her liking, she eagerly agreed. Once Ron had called up the Auror Office to tell them that he won't turn up, he and Hermione sat up all day, catching up on news. Mostly they talked about their baby, whether it was a boy or a girl, what name they would give it and the like. So while Ron swallowed his tears, he never let Hermione know that Harry was dead. He knew that he would regret it some day or the other, but he just couldn't let Hermione face such a situation during such a delicate stage.

Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune was served breakfast on the finest silver stamped with the Black family crest. It was part of the dowry that his mother had presented to his father. On a command, breakfast was served by the house elves. His favorite elf handed him the Prophet. Draco barely glanced at the headlines and skimmed through the article. He had more important things to worry about, like a marriage collapsing at the seams. He commanded the elves to clear the table and left for the Auror Office.

Ginerva was the last, among the five we had talked about, to wake up. She woke up at around noon. Having taken a shower, she went downstairs to have brunch. A magazine had told her that having brunch five times a week keeps you slim and trim, and she followed such magazines unquestioningly. Four years after the imprisonment of Harry Potter, her sometime fiancé, she had gotten used to the good life. She, as was her custom, did not read the newspapers. She relied on her husband for all things related to reading, apart from fashion and fitness, of course.

This is a little background information about the five people who will play a huge role in this narrative. Three know the news and two don't. Out of the three, one cares about what happened to Harry and the other two don't. Out of the three, two are unknown quantities whereas one isn't. Out of the two, both are unknown quantities. Two have committed salacious crimes and one is a mere henchman. And beware, I may or may not be referring to the two most obvious people.

* * *

Mr. Duiwel fire called up Draco. To save time, we will proceed as we did in one of the earlier chapters of this narrative.

Duiwel (referred to as D): You sure the bastard is dead?

Draco (referred to as M): He sure is. I personally checked his body. Found that girl Chang's wand on his person. You sure killing him was a good idea? We could have sent him to Azkaban.

D: Look here, Malfoy, I give the orders and you carry them out. Clear?

M: Crystal clear. And that Skeeter bitch. She had to find it out. What should I do sir? We can't go on denying it. People have already started whispering about it.

D: Very well. I will call a conference and alert the press. You might as well destroy Potter's belongings. He won't need them no more. I will take your leave then, Malfoy.

* * *

I have been told about this single line break thing earlier too, but I didn't use it because my scenes meld together, one into the other. So you will have to be more precise Cah11.

Is Harry dead? He probably is. Or he probably isn't, though the case against him being dead is pitifully inadequate, or is it?

Confusing. Plenty confusing. One thing is for sure, his belongings have been destroyed.

Another thing, I want 20 reviews for this baby. I am not asking for much, actually. I got about 7,000 hits over three days and all I got was some eight reviews. And I won't accept shit like 'attention whore' etc. as a review. I don't mind criticism, but criticise constructively.

20 reviews and I'm you man. Also, this is the time when cussing starts. Unfortunately, that led me to make this fic M. Hope you understand.


	8. And the Rebirth

I'm back after a bit of a hiatus. You might not want to read about it so without further ado, I present the new chapter.

* * *

The man reading the newspaper was done. After finishing his coffee, he incinerated the newspaper and took out an iPhone. Wary of the curious glances the iPhone was getting, he quickly dashed of a message to somebody known as TS. The message read: 'they bought it. Goin 2 meet d frnds I ws tlkin abt. best.'

After that, the man threw a galleon into his cup and departed.

**Hogwarts Castle**

Neville was a happy man. Happy with his job and with the way his life was going. Teaching had always been his passion. Herbology had always been his favorite subject. When old Prof. Sprout retired, Neville, all of twenty three, had been chosen to succeed her. It had been one of the proudest moments of his life when he was introduced by Minerva McGonagall as the professor of Herbology, to thunderous applause. Suffice to say, he was leading a happy and satisfied life, being in the greenhouses and caring for exotic and delicate (and not so delicate) species of plants. All that had changed today. Why had it changed? It had changed because of the death of his closest friend, Harry Potter.

And now, he was not even allowed to mourn in peace. He was awaiting the arrival of some pathetic American socialite called Frank Mercedes. Neville looked at his card to make sure. No, it was Franz de Morcerf. What a name!

**Four Years Earlier**

Harry was a free man. With the help of the Spaniard, he had managed to get on a flight to New York the same day that the two escaped. According to Harry, who considered himself the expert in such situations, this gave them an eighteen hour window. Once safely in the United States, he could plot his next move. After some time, he would need to return to Great Britain to extract his revenge. He was still considered a felon over there, so he must travel incognito and to do that…

"Look Harry, you are getting too edgy. You can't do something like that. I know that the people who put you in Azkaban will be careful in the utmost, but something like this is completely uncalled for," the Spaniard said after hearing Harry's plan.

But Harry wouldn't budge. "Look at this face," he said to the Spaniard, gesturing to his own face. "This is the most famous face in the magical world. Look at this scar, look into my eyes and look at these spectacles. Anyone can recognize them. They are as famous as I am. In fact, nobody would recognize me were it not for them."

The Spaniard remained unconvinced. "But plastic surgery for all this? Isn't that a bit too much?"

Harry grinned in response. "Look," he said, "it is very simple. First of all, I don't change my face or anything. I only get rid of the scar. Second, I get my nose straightened. It was straight earlier, when I was a kid, and did not get mashed to a pulp by my cousin. Three, I get some contact lenses. Not only do they eliminate the need to wear specs, I also get to wear different colored contacts, probably black. That is it. A couple of changes, and I'm a new man altogether."

"All that is fine, Harry, but where are you going to get all that done? And what about the money it is going to cost? Thought about that?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. In truth, he hadn't. "Do you know such a place where I can get that plastic surgery thing done?"

"Yes I do."

"And the money?"

"Don't worry, I will fund you. But I have one request."

Harry knew that there was no such thing as easy money. But he shelved the issue for the time being. He had more pressing issues to concentrate on.

**Hogwarts Castle, four years later**

Neville went back to his own set of rooms. He took a shower to remove all the dust and grime he had accumulated. While he was toweling himself dry, he checked his timepiece. Five minutes to four. Enough time to put on fresh robes. Not that it mattered, of course. Neville was not interested in whatever the man was here for. Probably the usual 'money, fame and adventure' type who considered himself lord of all creation. He checked his timepiece again. It read four minutes to five.

Having a little bit of time to himself, he allowed himself the luxury of thinking about himself and his own life. Again, just to assure himself, he looked at the timepiece. Three minutes to five. He thought about Harry, his best friend, his confidant. _Poor guy_, he thought, _as if he hadn't suffered enough already. It is a cruel world out there, _he surmised. _The best of us are always the first to die, and the rest of us live on in our happy and sinful way. _Just to console himself, he looked at the timepiece again. Two minute to five.

Why had it happened? Who was responsible for it? The wizarding world's hero was now a lifeless, abused body? The worst part was, nobody cared. A minute was all that now separated the fourth hour after noon from the fifth hour. Cruel world, what did you want from such a nice lad, hadn't you taken everything of consequence from him already? Deep in his reverie, Neville didn't hear the chime of the clock, though he did hear the knock that came at the exact moment the clock started chiming. Surprised, he got up and went to open the door. This was the first time that a 'socialite' had actually been on time, rather than being 'fashionably late' as the term went.

"Enter," he said, sounding like a school principal with an errant student. The man entered the room. Neville stood up as a mark of respect and greeting. The man was tall, about as tall as Neville, who was exactly six feet tall. That put the man's height somewhere between five feet eleven and six feet. Looking at the man, Neville had a sense of déjà vu. He could have sworn that he had never seen this man and at the same time, he vaguely felt that he had seen him somewhere. He had handsome, clear cut features. The most remarkable thing about him was his paleness. The lack of color in his features coupled with a strong jaw, a straight nose and intensely black eyes made him pleasing to look at.

"Do you know me?" was his first question.

Neville looked at him once again. "No sir, I don't," he said, "though I'm prepared to swear that I have seen you somewhere before. Now, if you would kindly tell me what the hell you want from me, because you would find I'm in a rather tetchy mood today."

The man did not reply. Going to the door, he uttered a spell which Neville made out to be a complex privacy charm. His eyes widened at this display of magic. He hadn't thought that the latest in a long line would have magic enough to conjure a rabbit ought of a hat. Once he had finished the charm, de Morcerf sat down on the chair Neville had previously offered him. Ignoring his surroundings, he concentrated on Neville. "Why are you in a tetchy mood today, Mr. Longbottom? Death of a friend, a good one?" he asked.

Neville nodded his head. "The best," he said.

Quick as a flash, the man took out his wand and aimed a stunner at Neville. Neville, too surprised to react, collapsed onto his chair. Once the man had checked that Neville was really stunned and not faking, he locked the door with the most complex locking charm he knew and then bound Neville with ropes. Once this had been done, he enervated Neville. Neville awoke with a volley of bad language and swearing, something completely unexpected. The man smiled. Maybe Neville actually was feeling a bit down.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this Neville," the man said.

Neville made no reply. He did attempt a rude gesture though.

The man waved his wand. The ropes binding Neville's hands disappeared. Disregarding his hands, which had still not getting enough blood, he lunged for the man, only to find himself receive a mild electric shock. Not knowing the spell used by the man, Neville retreated. The man nodded his head. Neville was learning. Now to use a trick he had taught himself.

The man knew what to do. He had to catch the lie. He had to force Neville to tell the truth. Luckily, he knew how he would manage it.

**Four Years Earlier**

"You want me to WHAT?"

The Spaniard treated Harry to his sternest gaze. "Don't keep saying the same thing over and over again," he said to Harry. "This is not some book or movie where you have to heighten the suspense or whatever the hell those fucking authors do. That is my only demand. I am not asking for you as my sex slave, am I?"

Harry just stared at the Spaniard, who sighed. "Listen lad," he said, "I will show you the place and give you the money for the plastic surgery as an act of good faith. You have heard my condition, take it or leave it."

Harry considered his options. He knew that taking on a new face was only a small part of the overall scheme. He still required money for the false papers. Without the papers, he would never be able to assume a new identity. After that, who knows? The world would be his oyster. He made an executive decision. "Deal," he said, "I will agree to your terms after the money and the place has been shown to me. And I need one more favor, just one."

The Spaniard raised his eyebrows. "And that is…?"

"I need money for the plastic surgery of another one."

Quickly, Harry told the Spaniard the plan. Though the Spaniard was reluctant, Harry finally convinced him. He had not much else to go upon. After a lot of argument, the Spaniard agreed. It was not that he liked the plan, but it was all that could be done. He agreed to fund two plastic surgeries. "This seems like an idea out of some Hollywood movie." He said.

Harry smiled. It was an idea out of a Hollywood movie. One whose name he couldn't remember, the one starring that Travolta guy. Which was it? Harry honestly couldn't recall.

They boy's name was John.

**A Small Hospital**

The doctor was a happy man. Satisfied, happy and content were the words you could use to describe him. The doctor was a man in his early fifties. As a child, he displayed no magic at all, much to the chagrin of his magical parents. Just like the squibs of today, squibs in those days too faced lot of ridicule. Abused by wizarding kids for not having any magical talent, the doctor left his home, swearing never to return. He was fourteen at that time. He had met Pedro Garcia, also called 'the Spaniard' and enlisted his help. The Spaniard had gladly acquiesced. Now, four decades later, the doctor couldn't be more grateful to the Spaniard. He also didn't know that his debt to Pedro was going to be called in.

"Good morning, Pedro. What can I do for you today?" the doctor asked of the Spaniard.

It didn't take long for the Spaniard to explain the circumstances. The doctor raised his eyebrows. He reluctantly agreed to do what the Spaniard asked him to. "Only because you are my friend," he said.

After listening to Harry's demands, the doctor nodded his head. "Alright," he said, "I will out you down for rhinoplasty, otoplasty and a browplasty. Something like that…isn't it? What do you need for, my man? You are good looking enough. Except for that nose, and that scar, they both look real horrible like. Is this just a cosmetic change or what?"

Harry grinned at him. "Something like that. And I also need a new set of fingerprints"

The doctor looked grim. "I warn you. You may die during the procedure."

"WHAT?"

"Just kidding."

Harry groaned. It seemed that the good doctor would really kill him with his awful jokes. "And I need one thing more," he said. He made a sign to the Spaniard, who nodded his head and took out a piece of paper. "Tell all the guys who will work on me to look at this paper carefully. It contains a sort of charm which will suppress their memories. Their brain will pounce on these gaps and create artificial but believable memories. No evidence will remain that can link us to you or this hospital."

The doctor nodded his thanks. "Now for the big one," he said.

"And preserve my fingerprints," Harry said.

Looking at the prone form lying down on the bed next to Harry's, the doctor nodded his head.

**Hogwarts Castle**

"Answer my question Neville. Was Harry Potter your closest friend?"

The man had a hand on Neville's carotid artery and another on his pulse. The theory behind this was simple. If a man told a lie, his pulse would skyrocket. Just to make sure, the man asked a few questions with obvious answers.

"Yes he was," Neville said. The man noted his pulse rate. Normal, so he wasn't lying.

"Do you have a crush on Susan Bones?"

Neville blushed. "Are you fucking crazy? NO!" Harry noted his pulse. It had skyrocketed. It was obvious that he was lying. The man smirked. He was going to enjoy this. _Focus, _he said to himself, _concentrate on the task at hand. Don't get carried away. You do not have much time._

Harry worked at it for nearly half an hour. On the way to establishing Neville's trustworthiness, the man found out some facts which were better left untouched. Like the fact that he was a virgin, or the fact that he had named his _Mimblus Mimbletonia_ as 'Harry' or the fact that he was sensually attracted to Susan Bones. Minor things, all in all. At least the man had proved Neville's trustworthiness.

"The last question, Neville, and listen well. Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're a bastard. You motherfucker, how does it concern you whether I am a virgin or not? I don't swing that way."

The man sighed. "I am sorry for that question, Neville. I asked that just to check whether my improvised lie detector was working fine or not."

Neville snorted. "Oh yes, by mistake. Was that why you were sniggering? And to answer your question, no. I have never seen you before."

The man sighed. He was doing a lot of that nowadays. Reaching inside his two piece suit, he took out a pair of 'granny' glasses, as they were called and put them on. "Oh I almost forgot," he said. Taking off the spectacles, he proceeded to remove his contacts. He then proceeded to once again put on the spectacles.

Neville Longbottom, professor of Herbology, witnessed something he had never seen before. The man sitting in front of him proceeded to take something out of his eyes. When he looked up, Neville was surprised to see that the man now had green eyes. Brilliant green eyes, the kind he had seen before, a long time ago.

"Harry…?" he said uncertainly.

**Four Years Earlier**

After Harry had recuperated from the surgery, the Spaniard raised the question that he he had raised previously. "Now my part of the bargain is concluded," he said. "I will ask you once again. Will you marry my daughter?"

"Yes I will."

**Hogwarts**

Neville was in denial. He couldn't believe it. Harry Potter was dead! This guy was obviously some sort of fake. Just to make sure, he decided to ask the man a few questions.

"What did you do to me when I tried to stop you in first year?"

The man looked surprised by the sudden question. "What was it? I think Hermione did the _Petrificus Totalus _on you, though I'm not real sure."

"Fair enough, mister. What did Harry tell me before the grand finale of the battle of Hogwarts?"

"I told you to kill Voldemort's snake, Nagini. I gave you the sword of Gryffindor to destroy her. When you asked me whether I was going to give myself up, I lied and said that I wasn't."

Neville's reaction was unexpected. He enveloped Harry in a bear hug. Once he was done hugging, he settled Harry down in one of the armchairs and said, "Now, Harry, what have you been up to these past four years?"

Harry looked gratified that Neville had accepted his story so quickly. Harry had almost resigned himself to facing at least half an hour of cross examination. Maybe it was because Neville wanted this story to be true. Maybe he felt guilty for Harry's 'death' and wanted to make amends. Who knew what went on inside that handsome head of his?

Once he had thought back to what he had been doing over the past four years, Harry proceeded to answer Neville's question. "I won't stop for a while so make yourself comfortable. You ought to listen to this; it is a bit of a thriller."

Neville rubbed his hands in an anticipatory sort of way. "Excellent," he said, "I love thrillers."

Harry sighed. He had been doing a lot of that nowadays.

**Four Years Earlier**

Harry was in the Garcia mansion library. It was a colossal room, the library, almost as large as the Hogwarts one. Not only did the library have magical tomes, but non magical ones as well. Harry, who had never ever read a muggle fiction book before, was blown away. He spent hours in the library, browsing through the various categories, choosing books with interesting titles and covers. One book interested him a great deal. It was called 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.

The book was a lot like Harry's life had been in the past four years. Indeed, Harry fancied himself as a sort of Edmund Dantes like protagonist. Not only had the book served as inspiration for his evolving plan, it had also served to land him a new contrived name. During a (what he liked to think of as a) stroke of genius, he merged two names from the book to come up with a hybrid name. The names 'Albert de Morcerf' and 'Franz d'Epinay' were hybridized to form the name 'Franz de Morcerf'. The only thing left to do was to get the new papers.

Unlike muggle borns, wizards do not keep any sort of records for births and deaths. Since most young wizards attend magical schools, such schools keep a sort of enchanted register that notes the birth of a wizard who is eligible for schooling in that particular school. To give an example, if a wizard X is born at a place whose address is MNO, the register will list his name down as soon as he is born along with his address. Now, this system is not foolproof. Obviously, this somewhat 'territorial' system of dividing students according to the geographical area leads to some mix-up. Many a good wizard has been home schooled because he lived on the border dividing the 'territory' of two different schools. It was this sort of mix up that Harry wanted to capitalize on. But first, he needed to get his 'grades'.

The Spaniard, with another one of his contacts, had fixed that. Harry intended to visit the contact alone, not because he didn't want to, but because he was at the airport to meet up with his daughter. He had invited her to States as soon as Harry had said yes to the matrimonial project. Harry shuddered with fear. He wondered what sort of affliction the Spaniard's daughter had that he wanted her to marry him. He couldn't worry about that right now, he decided. He hap plenty of time for that later on in the day. For now, he had to concentrate on the job at hand.

"I need to step out, Jeeves," he said to the old butler.

The butler nodded his head in compliance. "The Lamborghini, Master de Morcerf?"

"No. The Honda Civic."

Jeeves nodded his head as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Next stop, another squib turned specialist in computer.

The specialist, as was previously mentioned, was also a squib. Believe it or not, his skills were in demand, especially by the wizards who had nothing to do but party or indulge in some silly conference or the other. In such places, it was deemed 'cool' to have amazing OWL and NEWT grades, never mind the actual magical ability. Since students across the world were tested on OWL's and NEWT's, Harry…de Morcerf, was sure that the specialist would know what to do.

The specialist sure did know what to do. Harry concluded business with him in around half an hour. Harry looked down at his grades with some amount of satisfaction. The OWL report read:

_Ordinary Wizarding Level Results_

_Pass Grades:_

_Outstanding (O)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)_

_Acceptable (A)_

_Fail Grades:_

_Poor (P)_

_Dreadful (D)_

_Troll (T)_

_Franz de Morcerf has achieved:_

_Astronomy E_

_Care of Magical Creatures E_

_Charms E_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts O_

_Divination P_

_Herbology E_

_History of Magic D_

_Potions E_

_Transfiguration O_

Satisfied, he turned to his NEWT report.

_Nastily Exhausting Wizard Tests_

_Pass Grades:_

_Outstanding (O)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)_

_Acceptable (A)_

_Fail Grades:_

_Poor (P)_

_Dreadful (D)_

_Troll (T)_

_Franz de Morcerf has achieved:_

_Charms O_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts O_

_Herbology E_

_Potions E_

_Transfiguration O_

Grinning from ear to ear, even though he had done nothing to achieve it, Harry bounced into the Garcia mansion to peruse his favorite piece of fiction. He needed to put in some more think time into this revenge business.

Harry decided to try and find the differences between his life and that of Edmund Dantes. For one, Harry hadn't stayed in jail for more than six months while Dantes had for what…sixteen years? For another, Harry hadn't met someone like Abbe Faria. True, he had met the Spaniard in jail, but the two were very dissimilar. For a third, Harry hadn't come out Azkaban all genius like. He was just like he had always been. For another, he hadn't got hold of a load of money after escaping. And the Spaniard hadn't died…he could go on and on.

And he would have, had the girl not entered the room. She was tall, with black hair, lovely sea grey eyes and a Victoria's Secret figure. A finely formed and upturned nose and pouty lips completed the vision of loveliness. She bounded to the library only to find Harry quietly reading a manuscript in there. Her look of rapture turned to confusion, which was mirrored by Harry. The Spaniard stepped in to break the ice. "Mr. de Morcerf," he said, "I would like you to meet my daughter, Ms. Audrienne Garcia."

Harry wondered if his amazing day could become better still. As it turned out, it certainly could.

**Hogwarts**

Neville winked at him. "So you are married. And to a very lovely lady too, if what all you told me is accurate. Congratulations"

Harry smiled at him. "Thanks," he said, "Audrienne is very lovely. And what about you, professor? Got any dates? "

Neville shook his head. "I don't have the time. I am too busy with the kids. You won't know how much teachers suffered with us until you become one of them. Now I know. It is a difficult job, but it has its perks and privileges."

Harry looked interested. "What sort of privileges?" he asked.

"The usual," Neville said. "For one thing, I get lot of respect. Hogwarts is supposed to be the best run magical school, and it is supposed to have the best staff. Naturally I'm a cut above the rest. All this translates into a few things. First is that I get two months off every year, second is that the salary is very good, third I get discounts at every store and fourth I am the apple of everybody's eye."

Harry snorted. "That is why you are a virgin, I guess."

"Yeah, well…"

"Anyway, tell me about what has happened to the rest of my friends? I didn't bother to investigate."

"Only if you tell me who was it whose body they found."

Harry's face darkened. "The man's name was John," he said.

* * *

OK, so I have only recieved some thirteen reviews out of the twenty that I asked for. Still, I have posted this chapter as I was in a bit of a dilemna. I was going to continue with FiC, but for that I needed a beta. And I have no idea how I should catch hold of one. Any of you who want to do a bit of beta-ing can please leave me a message.

Another thing, I simply can't do girl descriptions. I can write poems for women for a year and a day, but descriptions? No joy. So please don't kill me for the inadequate description.

I don't know if ost of you know this, but I made a small mistake in the last chapter. If you have found it, keep it to yourself. I know about it but I am too lazy to correct it. Maybe later.

And also forgive my style of writing. I wanted to keep the suspense going, and this was the only way I could. Was it suspenseful enough? Or plain shit? Do review it.

Don't forget about the beta-ing thing and please review this chapter. That is all for now.


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